Mercy
by Sketchy Wasteland
Summary: A BLU Medic is left to die inside a ditch. When he thought his day couldn't get any worse, a RED Scout finds him.
1. Chapter 1

The BLU Team had lost.

It wasn't exactly a surprise to the BLU Medic. His team wasn't exactly the most professional one in existence, especially when compared to the RED team they had been fighting against. They hadn't begun the match with a plan, no one had bothered to work together, and, due to that, their asses were practically handed to them on a silver platter.

The one who had managed to get the brunt of the brutality was, of course, the Medic.

It wasn't like he was a fool. He was very intelligent and had at least an inkling of common sense. He knew when to stay out in the open, when to charge onto a battlefield, and the appropriate time to take a break from the war.

As far as he knew, he was the longest surviving medic.

Which was a feat, of course. The RED team always attempted to take Medic's out first on the battlefield. It was a sensible plan; get rid of the support, and the team would come crashing down.

And that was exactly what happened.

The medic had been targeted not once, not twice, but three times by the RED Team.

First it had been the Spy, who had pretended to be a wounded Scout. The doctor would have been fooled if it weren't for the fact that the disguised Spy hadn't called the medic by his _favorite_ nickname "Duck Doc". He had managed to take out the Spy and keep on living, only to break his medigun in the process.

The second close call had been with a Heavy. The doctor had been hiding from the RED sniper's scope when the opposing brute had spotted him and started firing round after round into the dirt around him. The only reason the medic had managed to survive that encounter was due to the lumbering form of his own Heavy shielding him and attacking his counterpart.

The BLU Heavy did not make it.

He had staggered back, teetering over the edge of the Medic's hiding spot. His chest had been filled with layers and layers of bullets and shrapnel. It was too much for the giant's body to handle, to heal, and medic couldn't exactly heal the man without his medigun.

Slowly dying and ebbing away from reality, the Heavy had then fallen backward and onto his teammate, effectively trapping the poor doctor under his giant form.

Thankfully, being trapped had an upside. The RED Heavy had assumed that the doctor had died along with his teammate and had left the doctor alone to fight a BLU Soldier.

It had taken Medic almost fifteen minutes to crawl out from under the Heavy without suffocating from the sheer bulk the corpse held.

And, of course, the third encounter had left him crippled.

Without Heavy (or, really, _anyone_ ) to watch his back, the Medic had been really at a loss at what to do.

Hide? Then the medic wouldn't be able to do his job. He wasn't a bloody spy; he couldn't melt into the shadows while skulking around.

Run? Where would he go? The doctor couldn't escape the battlefield.

Heal? His medigun was broken and he didn't have any spare medical kits on his person. He couldn't even bring his healer to an engineer because, of course, BLU hadn't hired any.

That led him at a loss at what to do. He could only wander the battlefield, avoiding enemies and traps while still looking out for his teammates. It was difficult, irritating, and his constant state of confusion and sense of misdirection was what led him to lose a large chunk of his leg.

It had been a small bomb. A small, sticky bomb that nicked onto the bottom of his boot and blared a small warning before exploding in a flash of brown and crimson.

Now, had the bomb stuck to anyplace else, the Medic would have most likely died. Had it stuck to the side of his boot, not only would it had taken his off a leg, but perhaps an arm or a torso. Had it not stuck directly under the Medic's boot, the steel plating on his footwear wouldn't have shielded his face from the blast.

However, the bomb had stuck on the direct bottom, and that had temporarily saved the Medic's life.

So now he lied in a ditch, trembling as he quickly cut off the circulation that was in his bleeding stump. His face drowning in sweat, blood coating him from head to toe, dust sticking to his form like a fine powder. The Medic could see chunks of his dismembered leg lying here and there in the ditch and tried his best not to look directly at them because he swore that whenever he did, he could feel the chunks still on his body, burning in a furious agony.

The doctor swore quietly in German, pain racking his form constantly, but he did not dare scream. While the match was over, the elimination round had begun, and he was left in a delicate situation. He couldn't fight or run. He could only hide and, since he could barely move, he could not find a better hiding spot.

So he remained quiet, his teeth grit and his hands shaking as his blood slowly seeped out of his wounds.

He could hear footsteps; light, heavy, everywhere, searching. He could hear mocking laughter, the sound of bullets, screams.

The BLU Medic had honestly never bothered to listen to the sounds of war before, but now...

His mind trailed off in thought, desperately trying to avoid thinking about the situation in front of him. What was the point in concentrating, after all? If the doctor concentrated on the footsteps, the pain, literally anything, it would cause him more harm than good.

Now, it was simply a waiting game. Either he was waiting for his demise, or he was waiting for the sweet release of the ceasefire.

Unfortunately, it seemed to be the former.

He heard the sound of footsteps approach him at a dizzying pace, and the Medic already knew who it was. They were light, fast-paced steps, bold and meaningful. It was no doubt a Scout, hopefully his own.

However, in a mere second, grim realization dawned on him; it couldn't be the BLU Scout. The doctor had already seen the poor fool scattered across the battlefield, his limbs torn from the seams.

 _Dead_.

So it had to be the enemy Scout.

With a grimace, the doctor attempted to hide, to crawl away, but his limbs were screeching at him to stay put. The medic sighed and slumped against the muddy walls of the trench. It wasn't like he could get far, anyway.

Through half-lidded eyes, the doctor saw the Scout slow to a halt on the edge parallel to him. The boy was grinning, bat swinging from hand to hand as he stared down at the rooted medic. Their eyes connected, blue against green, and the Medic could make out the bloodlust reflected deep inside the Scout's eyes.

The lithe man jumped from the wall and into the ditch with a small thump. He merely stepped forward twice before he was merely inches away from the doctor, bat gripped tightly in one hand. The BLU Medic cringed and tilted his head away, placing his hands in front of him as a weak barrier between him and his enemy. When it sounded like Scout was rearing back to put more power into his swing, the Medic tensed and prayed under his breath.

However, the blow never came.

The BLU Medic risked a chance to glance up and saw that the Scout was staring at him blankly. To be more precise, he was staring at his stump of a leg.

His leg wounds were by no means pretty. Bones gutted out of the stump, splintered and cracked in various areas. Puss and blood crusted and leaked over his lower body. His remaining leg had shards of bone and shrapnel embedded in the soft tissue.

It was no wonder Scout had paused to stare. From what the Medic had seen, scouts tended to avoid staring at wounds and corpses, preferring to concentrate on mocking and incapacitating the next soldier or heavy in line. Seeing a momentarily crushed skull was much more different than getting a full view of what a bomb could do to flesh and bone.

The BLU Medic hissed and shuddered as the RED Scout brought his bat down and lightly tapped the piece of jutting bone. A horrible agony flashed throughout his entire leg and he caught himself before he could scream, placing his hand in on his lower jaw.

"Hell man..." The Scout muttered under his breath. His demeanor seemed to change suddenly as he glanced from the shredded stump, to the slivers of leg on the ground, and, finally, the doctor's face.

The Scout froze momentarily and glanced around, looking for some kind of movement. There was none.

In a flash, the RED gripped the Medic's arm and hauled him upward onto his remaining leg. The BLU screeched and staggered only to have the Scout's hand smother his cries, dropping the bat right next to him.

"Shut it, BLU," the boy hissed between grit teeth. "I don' want to end up hurting ya more than I need to."

The Medic couldn't say anything, but merely nodded, shrieks and hisses trapped in his throat. It was insanely difficult to stifle his cries and curses as the Scout began to drag him across and out of the ditch in a quick pace, the boy's eyes twitching and scanning everything.

The Scout didn't stop dragging the poor doctor until they were in front of the BLU's base. The boy unceremoniously dumped the Medic in front of the doorway before trotting off, his bloody footprints staining the ground. However, before the boy could completely abandon the doctor, the man rasped out a tiny question.

"...why?"

The RED Scout paused, his face scrunching up in confusion. It looked like he himself didn't know why, and simply shrugged, his eyes trained on the RED base. Without a word, the boy left, sprinting back to his home.

The BLU Medic let out a silent sigh of relief. He was baffled, of course, but it didn't change the fact that he was, well, alive. What was even better was the fact that his entire lower body had gone numb, allowing him to move better without being irked by agony with every stretch. Sure, from a medical point of view it meant that something was terribly, terribly wrong in his system, but from a practical perspective, hustling over to his medical supplies would be far easier.

And everything would be even easier if he could finally contact the last of his teammates.

Through a bit of struggling, the BLU Medic managed to open the mechanical entrance. It was pitch black inside the base. Strange. Shouldn't his team members be back by now? He let out a shout.

Nothing.

Silence.

The doctor dragged himself further in, droplets of fresh blood and puss falling onto the cement floor. Leaning against the wall, with straining fingers, he managed to flip the light switch on.

 _Mein Gott..._

The BLU Medic slumped fully to the ground, staring at the blood soaked walls and floor.

 _He_ was the last of his team.

* * *

 _Alright, my first TF2 story was a flop, that much I can admit. Hopefully, this one is better...? I honestly don't know. Well, that's what the review section is for, isn't it? Please tell me what you think of this story, and how I can improve it. If I receive enough positive feedback, I will probably continue this story._


	2. Chapter 2

The BLU Medic wasn't exactly sure when he passed out, but when he awoke, his aching body seemed to have collapsed in front of the BLU medical bay, the nearby light switch marked with a bloody handprint.

The medic was confused at first. How had he ended up there? Where were his teammates? Why couldn't he feel his legs? Questions kept on stirring in his mind until he mustered up the strength to raise his head, his hands clenching in pain.

He couldn't exactly feel the lower portion of his body, nor remember what had happened to him. All he recalled was a murky red figure, muddled feelings of agony and confusion, and twinges of loneliness. Hardly helpful, but it was better than nothing. The vague memories encouraged the doctor to move his numb hands under his chest and push up, allowing him to look around.

Blood streaked the walls. A corpse was slumped several feet in front of him, slathered in BLU clothing. The medic didn't have his glasses, but it was easy to tell that the muscular frame belonged to the BLU Soldier of his team. The medic winced at the wounds on his comrade's body, painfully aware that he couldn't help his teammate. With a silent sigh, the BLU Medic tilted his head to look behind him, expecting to find other corpses.

A raspy scream rattled the walls.

He saw the trail of blood first, right at the end of the hallway. His eyes then noticed that the muddy red was connected to him, to the lower portion of his body.

To his leg and stump.

Something inside of him violently snapped back into place, and then he remembered. The war, the blood, RED, a bomb, everything. The feeling he most recalled was the agony of having his legs butchered and the rest of his body battered, mostly because he could feel the tingles of pain trailing down his back. The agony wasn't quite there yet, but it made sure that the BLU knew it was hiding, waiting for the doctor to reach full consciousness.

The medic groaned and collapsed, fatigue draping over him instantly. His entire body tingled with wasted adrenaline, the blood loss too great for him to handle. Though he had cut off the circulation in both of his doomed legs, it didn't stop the red liquid from trickling down, slowly but surely incapacitating the poor medic.

BLU Medic wanted nothing more than to sleep. To dream. What was the point of staying awake, anyway? Nothing was happening. He had no more responsibilities.

All he had to do was close his eyes.

Permanently.

But, before he could do just that, his eyes caught a flash of red somewhere in front of him.

It wasn't the leaking, oozing red that fouled his wounds, nor was it the faded crimson that stained the walls. No, it was a stark, frightening scarlet that flashed in the blue light that illuminated the BLU Base.

The scarlet was haunting because it belonged to the most vibrant, most hated member on the RED Team:

The RED Medic.

BLU Medic breathed out a silent whimper, his eyes widening as his counterpart drew closer, the RED'S grin widening into a frightening smile. The opposing medic seemed confident in his steps, his bonesaw clenched in his grip. The BLU Medic's mind begged him to run, to escape, to do anything except lie there at the doctor's mercy.

But his limbs couldn't move.

His efforts in movement only resulted in trembling fingers and numb toes. He couldn't move, could barely breathe, and was a second away from passing out again. So he was forced to tilt his head down, resting his chin on the frigid tile below just as a pair of slick red boots came into view.

"Oh, look. BLU bothered to leave me a little present this time," the RED doctor purred, his smile razor-sharp as he kneeled in front of the dying medic. The eerily content medic tapped his weapon against the other man's back.

"Didn't expect it to be so red, though." The opposing doctor chuckled before leaning downward, leering directly into the BLU Medic's eyes. "Hmph, they damaged him too," the doctor grumbled to himself, slightly miffed that his new toy had already been shredded.

The RED shook his head and gave the injured doctor another eerie grin, dropping his bonesaw and stooping forward, gripping the downed medic by his arms. With a heave, the RED tossed the opposing medic onto his shoulders with practiced ease, ignoring the muffled and muddled screams the BLU released as his legs were jostled painfully together.

He stood up in a haphazard manner, attempting to grab onto his bonesaw while keeping the tensed, shuddering body on his shoulders from falling off. After a few seconds of grumbled curses, the RED Medic was then happily pacing down the hallway, whistling a merry tune.

After all, it wasn't everyday that one received an incapacitated test subject.

* * *

When the RED scout spotted the shrieking BLU medic, he wanted nothing more than to pummel him to the dirt.

How dare he? The fucker just had to go and get caught, didn't he? After Scout had bothered to show the tiniest bit of compassion toward his enemy, his enemy had to come right back and practically spit in his face. His hatred for the BLU Team only grew when the doctors paced closer, the RED medic obviously content with the entire situation while the BLU was probably facing the worst day of his life.

With a slight growl of irritation, RED Scout slammed the tip of his bat into the dirt below, glaring at his medic's back as he swiftly ignored the rest of his team and trotted off to his medical bay. The RED demoman whistled lowly at the doctor before letting out a hoarse laugh.

"Ach, the poor lad is going to be shredded in there. I wouldn't give a nickel to be in his position."

Scout found himself agreeing.

* * *

 _I'm sorry for the shorter chapter._

 _I know, I have sinned. But- thank you for the reviews and favorites. They mean a lot to me, especially in this fandom. I've come to the grim realization that the fans of TF2 aren't exactly... giving with their favorites in comparison to other fandoms._

 _However, I will try to keep your attention. Hopefully._


End file.
